


The Game

by WildwingSuz



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 18:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildwingSuz/pseuds/WildwingSuz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friendship, baseball, and no sore losers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with the idea for this while watching the last night game of the year at Comerica Park on Oct. 3rd 2009, the Detroit Tigers vs. the Chicago White Sox. Then, the next day my husband happened to glance at my laptop while I was doing research and was tickled to see me reading box scores… and a moment later got very upset that it was the Yankees I was reading about considering we live in Detroit. And yes, the game in this story is a real one from that date.
> 
> Spoilers: Triangle, The Unnatural, Detour. Takes place shortly after Chimera, before all things. 
> 
> As always, to my betas Cory and Alia; thanks to your hard work I'm sure that my stories are the best they can be.

The Game  
Rated PG  
By Suzanne L. Feld

 

Sunday May 7th, 2000

“Scully, this is the best late-or-early birthday present ever. Hell, it’s the best present I’ve ever gotten from anyone at any time, including Christmas.”

I grinned back at him, enjoying his boyish excitement. The cab sped away behind us as I handed him his ticket, and to my surprise he threw an arm around my shoulders, squeezed me against his side, and leaned down to kiss my forehead. “Thank you,” he said simply, still grinning down at me.

“You’re welcome,” I replied just as simply as he let go of me and we joined the crowds thronging to the stadium. “I’ve been waiting a while to repay you for that batting lesson.”

“You could not have done better,” he said, eyes roving over the crowd. I followed suit, immediately wishing that I had packed some casual clothes on this trip. But, not knowing that our case would be solved before we got here and we’d have some time to kill, I’d brought just suits and blouses to wear with them. So I was wearing a pair of dark blue slacks from one of my suits with a light blue crew-necked, short-sleeved sweater and a medium-weight black jacket as it was a rather cool if sunny day. Luckily I had, at least, brought a pair of flats, so I wasn’t tottering about on my usual 3” heels, even if I was looking at the center of Mulder’s chest rather than his shoulder.

I had told Mulder to dress comfortably and he was, of course, in jeans and one of his ubiquitous grey t-shirts, a blue and black North Shore jacket over them, which I recognized from our long-ago trip into the Florida wilderness. I stood out like a sore thumb, like I was his parole officer or therapist accompanying him, and for the first time in a long while I was uncomfortable with the way I was dressed.

But this trip wasn’t for me, it was for him. He ushered me ahead as we went through the gate, and once inside he immediately bought a program, grabbed my hand, and dragged me into the team store. “What are you doing, Mulder?” I asked, a little exasperated. “The game starts in just a few minutes.”

“You’ll see,” was his only answer. I trailed along as he browsed through the store for a short time, and then he told me to go wait outside until he was done. Shrugging, I did as bid, going to stand outside the doors and watching the people in the concourse as I waited. Once again I reminded myself that this day was for him; after all the crap we’d been through in the last couple of months, he deserved this.

He appeared a few minutes later and handed me large dark blue bag. “There’s the women’s room over there—go change,” he told me, reaching in to dig out a cap, which he plunked on his head after ripping off the tags.

“What?” I said, hearing a roar from the field.

“Hurry!” he urged, all but shoving me towards the doorway he’d indicated. “Game’s starting; we don’t want to miss the first pitch!”

Inside, I found that he had bought me a pair of dark blue straight-leg velour pants with a tailored, matching hoodie and an adjustable cap, everything of course with the Yankees logo prominently displayed. Shaking my head I went ahead and changed, remembering to transfer my wallet from my jacket to the hoodie. Somehow I was not surprised that he had gotten the right sizes—even the pants length wasn’t too far off, to my amazement, though they did hang past the heels of my shoes. I neatly folded my other clothes and put them in the bag. 

When I came out I could hear the strains of the National Anthem, and after a quick look up and down my figure, Mulder grinned, nodded, and grabbed my hand again, dragging me after him through the crowd. Luckily our seats weren’t too far away and I followed along as he led me down several flights of shallow stairs to our seats just a few rows away from the field and about halfway between home and first base. I was relieved that we had seats on the end of the row; I hate having to push past people when I need to get out. 

While we were still standing as the anthem was finishing up, Mulder leaned down and said, “These are awesome seats, Scully! How did you get them?”

I grinned back at him, setting the heavy plastic bag containing my other clothes between my feet. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” I said, having no intention of letting him know how much I’d paid for these. Nor did I dare tell him I’d gotten the tickets through a friend of my father’s who I knew was an Orioles fan, which was whom the Yankees were playing today. When we’d gotten stuck in Manhattan for an extra day after our flight was cancelled due to thunderstorms up and down the Atlantic coast, I’d seen an ad on TV that the Yankees were in town this afternoon. One phone call later, here we were—and in no rush whatsoever since we didn’t fly out until tomorrow morning.

Once again he put an arm around me and hugged me against him. Leaning down close to my ear he said, “You keep your secret, Scully, but let me take you out to dinner afterward.”

His breath was warm on the side of my face and it was all I could do not to turn my head and meet his lips with mine; ever since that lovely kiss on New Year’s Eve I had wanted him to kiss me again but was letting him set the pace. Instead I just nodded and followed suit as everyone around us sat down, and the game was on.

Mulder had decided to keep score in his program and chattered on nonstop as he setup his scorecard—or whatever it was—about batting averages and ERAs and RBIs and what not, most of which I didn’t understand. I let most of it flow over me; I had been to a few games with my family over the years, as my father had been a huge Padres fan, but I hadn’t been to one since high school. I could follow the game well enough, though certainly not as in-depth as Mulder was getting.

Then, when I happened to glance down at the Yankees logo on both my shirt and pants, it occurred to me that I was rooting for the wrong team and was unable to resist yanking his chain. Leaning over against his arm, I said, “You know, Mulder, I went to the University of Maryland.”

He slanted a glance at me under the brim of his dark blue cap, clear hazel eyes amused. “And? Your point being?”

“You dressed me up in Yankee paraphernalia—thank you, by the way—but I really should be cheering for the Orioles.”

He grinned, shaking his head as he went back to jotting in his program. “You go right ahead, Scully, but you get to explain to everyone sitting around us why someone dressed in Yankee colors is rooting for the Orioles.”

“Hmph.” I folded my arms and sat back in my seat. But I couldn’t stay annoyed with him, not seeing how much fun he was having. I again got involved with the game; along with everyone around us I cheered the Yankees, though I was secretly hoping the Orioles would win.

In the 2nd inning the Orioles scored, much to Mulder’s annoyance and my open amusement. Then in the 4th the Yankees came back while I was at the concession getting us each a beer—Mulder paid but I had agreed to go rather than try to keep score for him—and I was able to not join in the celebration since I had my hands full. The little rebellions amused me, but I honestly didn’t care who won as long as we had fun. I definitely was, and was pretty damn certain he was as well.

Then, in the 5th, one of the Yankees hit a high foul that flew right at our section. Mulder dropped his program and leaped for it, but it was still too high and landed in the seats far behind us, almost to the concourse. I had to close my mouth and figuratively wipe the drool off my chin; when he’d leaped Mulder’s shirt had ridden nearly up to his chest, his jacket flying wide open, and I’d gotten a good look at his lean, muscular torso in action, bare and close-up. “Damn, I wish I could have caught that for you,” he said, tugging his shirt down over his flat belly as everyone around us went back to their seats. “That would have been a great souvenir.”

“You’ve gotten me plenty already,” I said, gesturing to my outfit. I handed him the program, which I’d picked up from the ground after Mulder had jumped and it had gone flying. “I’m sorry but I can’t find your pencil; I don’t know where it went.”

“That’s all right, I’d rather watch the game with you than keep score. I just got in the habit because my dad always kept score when we went, so I did too.” He tucked the program into the bag and sat back, throwing one long arm around the back of my seat. He wasn’t touching me, but it was about as close as we normally got and I was used to being content with it.

Then, in the bottom of the 6th inning just after I returned from the restroom after getting rid of the beer I’d drunk in the 4th, the Yankees answered the Orioles’ two earlier runs with one of their own, making it 3-2. There was much whooping and hollering and everyone was on their feet cheering. I joined in, of course, and when the runner was batted in, Mulder threw an arm around me and hugged me against him. I didn’t even try to resist putting mine around his waist in return; when everyone sat down and we let go of each other, I was left with the memory of feeling his lean muscles moving under my hands. We were casually touching each other more and more; how long would it be before the rest of our restraints wore away, I wondered.

The next time the hot dog vendor came by Mulder bought us a couple, though I stopped him from putting anything but mustard on mine. “Gotta at least have a hot dog at the ball game, Scully,” he told me, handing over the food and a Diet Coke.

I took my warm, wrapped, hot dog, raising an eyebrow at him. “Even at the risk of ingesting Staphylococcus or E. coli and spending the night in the emergency room?”

“Don’t be a spoilsport,” he admonished as I bit into mine. “Besides, you gotta take a risk now and then, don’t you?”

I nearly choked before I was able to free up my mouth and reply, “Mulder, my whole life has been one big risk since I started working with you!”

He laughed out loud and bumped his shoulder against mine. “Touché, Scully, touché!”

The 7th went by without a run, the score standing at 3-2 Baltimore to my secret amusement; in the top of the 8th the Orioles got one more, taking their lead to 2. But in the bottom of the inning one of the Yankees hit a grand slam home run, the entire place going insane with screaming and jumping and yelling and hollering. Then the Orioles came back in the top of the 9th with three runs, which the Yankees didn’t answer in their final turn at-bat. The score ended up 7-6, the Baltimore Orioles winning.

It was a quiet, subdued, grumbling crowd that left the stadium, eddying and swirling around us. Without discussing it we walked a ways; we both knew it was impossible to catch a cab and that the subway was going to be jammed as no one had left that game early. He carried the bag and we walked for a while in companionable silence, then our hands brushed and he took mine, enfolding it in his free one. I glanced up at him and he looked down at me with an innocent look on his face; I just smiled and shook my head, tightening my hand on his. If he wanted to pretend we were a couple when we were in a place where no one knew us, that was fine by me. 

After a few blocks I spotted a tiny restaurant tucked between two larger buildings across the street. It looked like an authentic Italian trattoria despite our being nowhere near Little Italy. “Want to check that out, Mulder?” I asked, pointing. “I haven’t had real Italian food in a while.”

He agreed and it turned out I was right about how authentic the place was; the trattoria had no printed menu, just a list rattled off by a fairly heavily accented waiter, which made ordering a challenge. The day’s special sounded like eggplant lasagna, so we ordered that and a bottle of the house red, which actually came in a decanter with what looked like hand-blown, wide-hipped wine glasses. Mulder poured for us and when I raised my glass to him he said, “To friendship, baseball, and no sore losers.”

I tapped the rather wavy edge of mine against his; despite its appearance the glass rang with a lovely tone. “I’ll drink to that,” I agreed with a smile, and he grinned back over the flickering candle in the center of the table at me as we sipped.

We were served a superb six-course meal, starting with a plate of olives and cubed cheese as well as ciabatta integrale with herbed dipping oil, and ending with zabaglione and very strong, very good espresso in tiny china cups. The food was simply served on heavy white porcelain plates and came in plentiful portions, in fact far more than we could eat. 

When we left the trattoria it was just barely beginning to get dark, and I didn’t argue when Mulder immediately flagged down a cab. I was stuffed from the dinner; I didn’t usually eat that much but the food had been so good I’d indulged myself. Between the heavy meal and day out, I was tired and dozed a bit against Mulder’s shoulder during the ride to midtown where we were staying. 

“C’mon, sleepyhead, we’re here,” he said as the cab stopped outside our hotel. For once we were staying at a halfway decent one, not an utter fleatrap, and I yawned behind my hand as we went through the wide, brightly lit lobby. Several people called out to us, asking about the game, and Mulder replied with the bad news, though neither of us so much as slowed. 

When we got in the elevator by ourselves and I leaned against the back wall, Mulder stood next to me and draped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me lightly against his lean body. “Scully, even with my vocabulary I can’t find the words to thank you, to tell you how much this afternoon meant,” he said as the car lifted us towards the 21st floor. “I know baseball isn’t one of your favorite things…”

“It’s tolerable-to-fun with you,” I said, smiling up at him. Our eyes locked and held and within a few moments I saw his expression change, going from friendly to intense. Almost before I knew it, his lips were pressed to mine just like they had been a few months ago, on a New Year’s Eve spent with cult fanatics and zombies and celebrated in a hospital emergency room. 

Luckily we’d removed our caps in the restaurant and put them in the bag, or one of us might have ended up with a brim in the eye, he moved so fast.

Though taken by surprise again, this time I didn’t waste the opportunity; I reached up with one hand to cup the back of his warm, strong neck, keeping him there, and parted my tingling lips beneath his. I heard his sudden intake of breath, and then next thing I knew I was pressed back in the corner of the elevator by his hard body, his lips all but devouring mine, tongue invading my mouth to be met with my own, his arms around my shoulders holding me against him. Wow, I thought dazedly, had I known he took so little encouragement, I’d have made a move long before this!

The bell signaling our floor broke us apart, though Mulder kept his arm around me even as he stooped to retrieve my bag, which he’d dropped, and we went out into the long, narrow hallway. We didn’t speak or look at each other as we walked down towards our rooms, which were at the far end, but I was hyperaware of his warm arm around my shoulders and his long, hard body bumping mine. My knees were weak and I felt shaky inside; I hadn’t been physically aroused like this in more years than I cared to remember. 

We eventually reached our rooms, which were next door to each other. Suddenly I felt unaccountably shy with him, which was odd because I certainly hadn’t felt this way after our other kiss. He removed his arm from around my shoulders and then I felt a warm touch on my chin, the sensation coming from his hand raising my face to his. His clear hazel eyes were all but blazing down into mine, a deeply intense, aroused look on his expressive face. His mouth caught my eye and I wanted nothing more than to catch that full, soft lower lip gently in my teeth and never let go. “If I kiss you again, I’m not sure I can stop,” he said in a low, husky voice. “You willing to risk it, Scully, or should we save this for when we get back to D.C. tomorrow?”

I was torn as I gazed up at him, feeling my aroused body urging me on—yet a corner of my mind protested quietly, and I listened to it. Did I really want our much-anticipated first time to happen in a hotel room in Manhattan when neither of us were prepared or had considered it beforehand? God, it had been so long since I’d been with a man…but I wanted this to be right, I really did. An extra day of consideration was not a bad thing no matter what my libido was urging me to do. This had been so damn sudden!

“Mulder…” I had to look away; his eyes were too intense and I couldn’t take it anymore. “I want this, I want you, I need you to know that, but…”

“Me too,” he said low, and then pulled me against him in a tight hug, resting the side of his face on the crown of my head. I wrapped my arms around him in return, reveling in the feel of his long, hard body against mine. “Ah, Scully, do you think we’ll ever be like other people? Regular, ordinary people who could date normally and kiss goodnight without all this drama?”

“I think it’s overrated.” I laughed along with him, both appreciating yet missing the lessening of tensions that our shared amusement caused. While I was glad the uncomfortable intensity had passed, I was a little disappointed that nothing more was going to happen tonight even though it was at my insistence. I leaned back enough to see his face and, smiling, blurted something I’d been thinking for a while. “You know, I love you too.”

He froze, staring down at me with wide eyes, and then his face was wreathed in a huge grin that probably matched mine. “If I say ‘oh brother,’ will you hurt me?”

“I think I probably deserve it.”

We were still smiling as we moved apart by silent agreement and went into our respective rooms alone. I really wanted another kiss, but he was right—now wasn’t the time or the place. But when we got back to D.C. it would be a whole ‘nother story, as Mulder sometimes said, and until then I was content to wait.

Or maybe I’d take him to another baseball game if this was the reaction that I got! Regardless, I was thrilled with the way the day had gone and knew it would be one of my best memories ever no matter what happened from here on out.

finis


End file.
